


falling through the cracks (or: how Jaskier disrupts the world)

by gridelinCarver



Series: witchers aren't supposed to have feelings (haha unless...) [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (as a mention in tavern not a big story driving feature), (putting it just in case), Alcohol, Canon Compliant, Demiromantic Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, First Kiss, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Demiromantic, M/M, Mentioned Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Pining, Stream of Consciousness, bits and pieces of geralt's i mean, he's trying to figure out why he feels funny around jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22565431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gridelinCarver/pseuds/gridelinCarver
Summary: The world worked in a certain way for Geralt, a predictable way.  He found the reason in everything, a reason for the way those acted around him and reasons for how he reacted.  People treated him rudely because he was different, a threat, or they treated him well because they needed something from him.  It all made sense.One thing, really one person, made no sense.  Geralt could not wrap his head around Jaskier.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: witchers aren't supposed to have feelings (haha unless...) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623631
Comments: 19
Kudos: 275
Collections: Best Geralt





	1. observance

It wasn’t that Jaskier _annoyed_ Geralt, per se, or at least not _anymore,_ it was more so that he _puzzled_ Geralt.

The bard currently pranced around the room, strumming his lute, riling up the crowd with a raucous tune, while the witcher sat hunched over a flagon of ale in the corner-most booth. He’d long since given up on following Jaskier with his eyes; the buzzing group of enthralled bar patrons surrounding him as he performed had made it difficult. So Geralt was left to sink into his drink and his thoughts.

The world worked in a certain way for Geralt, a predictable way. Townsfolk spat at him as he walked by. There was a reason for this: he was mutant, he was _other,_ he didn’t belong, he disrupted the peace. Occasionally one brave or kind soul would treat him with civility, or even some sense of compassion, but there was a reason for this as well. These people usually had been helped by a witcher, either him or someone else, that or they needed his help in some way. He found the reason in everything, a reason for the way those acted around him and reasons for how he reacted. Queen Calanthe had been kind to him at the banquet because she was bored out of her mind and he was interesting, and then she wasn’t kind because he had gone against her wishes. Yennefer had been accommodating and warm because Geralt had been a means to her end. After that was expended, she was abrasive.

It all just made sense.

One thing, really one _person,_ made no sense. Geralt could not wrap his head around Jaskier. He sighed deeply and took a long swig of his ale.

Everyone he’d ever met had shown some apprehension around Geralt, some wariness, some mistrust, even those who eventually showed some warmth to him. Of course, there was a reason for this; he had the physical strength to kill any of them easily, even unarmed. They had every right to be afraid. But Jaskier never had. The moment Jaskier had seen Geralt in that tavern in Posada he had sauntered his way over and struck up a conversation, even invited himself to take a seat across from him at the table.

_“I love the way you just—sit in the corner and brood.” Geralt’s shriveling stare would have sent anyone else scurrying off with their tail between their legs._

Well, he’d attempted to strike up a conversation anyway, not that Geralt had been very receptive.

A barmaid unwittingly stirred Geralt from his deep thoughts, offering him a fresh flagon from her tray. He looked down and realized he’d finished the one in front of him, then accepted the new drink. Since when did Geralt of Rivia get so lost in thought that he paid no attention to his surroundings, not even to his own ale? Nothing made sense anymore.

This trend, of Jaskier going against every ounce of reason Geralt clung to, continued. Jaskier followed him to the contract he’d been assigned, when every other human preferred to stay as far out of the way as possible. Jaskier made small talk with him, when normally people kept their interactions with him strictly to business. Hell, Jaskier wrote a _song_ about him, which was so _unreasonable_ that he couldn’t even think of a proper comparison to the way humans were _supposed_ to act around him.

And this had all been on the _first day they met._

Loud cheering erupted from the tavern-goers encircling Jaskier. Old and young men alike clapped wholeheartedly, while the few younger women fawned and fluttered their lashes and older ladies crooned at what a talented young lad he was. Enough of them had backed away momentarily so that Geralt could just make out the bard taking sweeping bows. Geralt found his eyes flitting between the small gaps in the crowd, snatching at those split seconds where he could catch glimpses of Jaskier through the whooping locals.

It only got more inexplicable the more time they spent together. 

First off, the very fact that they spent _more time together._ Geralt didn’t exactly have travel companions (well, besides Roach, of course). If he ever ran into someone whose monster he’d gotten rid of for them it was simply a curt nod, maybe even the occasional “Good to see you’re still safe, witcher,” or something of the like. They wouldn’t just—decide to _tag along_ for days on end, camping with him in woods or spending the night together in the occasional inn. And not only that, but when they did split up for one reason or another, the next time they crossed paths Jaskier would just latch back onto him!

For the life of him, Geralt could not determine any sort of reason why Jaskier would do this. It put his own life in danger, and the gods know that it’s not as if the bard were trying to challenge himself as a warrior because he never attempted to _fight._ Not that he didn’t help out after the deed was done from time to time, harvesting the valuable bits from monster carcasses with Geralt’s instruction, but that wasn’t exactly a lovely activity for someone to look forward to. Of course, Jaskier claimed he trailed along for songwriting fodder. Geralt would normally have accepted this as a reason, but the bard had proven time and time again that he had no issue with spinning his own material for ballads—they were hardly true-to-life. Any semblance of order in the world fell through the cracks when it came to Jaskier.

As Geralt tried in vain to grasp at these nonsensical bits, Jaskier swept his way through the people circling him and delved into one of his more melodramatic pieces, the drawling legato notes hanging in the air. The bar patrons, entranced, seemed to cling to every word of Jaskier’s piece. Geralt couldn’t be bothered to listen to the lyrics, not with all the words swimming through his head already, but also found his eyes trailing Jaskier around the room wherever he moved.

Now that he’d escaped the blockade of adoring new fans, Jaskier was free to dance around and use the whole tavern as his stage, just the way he liked. He swayed around the bar past the booths, occasionally pausing before one seated customer or another to sing at them in a sultry tone before moving on. As he passed nearer to the back booths, Jaskier threw a wink and smile in Geralt’s general direction before sashaying to even more eager patrons.

The wink was probably just meant as sort of an acknowledgement of his friend still sitting at the table (what other purpose could it possibly have? right?), but Geralt found that his face was heating. That was yet _another_ example of the way Jaskier seemed to unravel all reason. Blood flow in a human body could be altered, of course, for example the way it would direct itself downwards if one was physically stimulated in specific areas. But, this? This he couldn’t understand.

Jaskier was no great beauty, not the way sorceresses were. Yennefer had her symmetrical features, plump lips. It would have made some sense if he reacted in an irrational way to her smile (which he didn’t, of course, because witchers were creatures of reason and his reaction was only in response to stimulus as it was meant to be). Jaskier’s face was asymmetrical. If one were to look at his still form cast in marble, he would be average. Geralt is sure of this. But something in the way he moved, the way he grinned, the way he could whisk through a crowd on his light feet and draw them along with him. The way Jaskier could sweep a whole tavern away, completely enrapture an audience, with nothing but his voice and his lute, it was something Geralt would have labeled magical. And yet, here Jaskier was, not a trace of magic in his veins, doing exactly that.

Not only could he capture the minds of townsfolk, but somehow Jaskier’s performances had a similar effect on the witcher. Geralt couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away, which didn’t make sense. Witchers were meant to be immune to magic, to base human emotion. That was his norm, it was the way the world worked, but Jaskier had come along and undone that bit of Geralt’s reason as well. He might have even been able to write off this strange effect the bard had on him were it limited to his performances. Performances, after all, were tailored to capture an audience. But that wasn’t where it ended.

This train of thought could only lead to a confusing and worrisome place, but Geralt found himself dragged along against his will. He wasn’t sure he wanted to follow where it might go. The witcher tried to backpedal, tearing his eyes away from Jaskier and fixing them down into his flagon of ale in a vain attempt to halt his mind. But in another infuriating lapse of reason, he found himself falling into a set of thoughts he’d been trying desperately to avoid.

Geralt had started noticing that his eyes were drawn to Jaskier even in moments when they were alone, when the bard had no show to put on. Something about Jaskier’s stuttering indignance, the way his words would loop around and repeat as he expressed disorganized thoughts, accompanied by his signature overdramatic flailing, made Geralt feel warm. A small smile over the fire or soft words in an inn at night would tug at the muscles of his cheeks, pulling the corners of his mouth upwards just so, prick behind his eyes and draw barely-noticeable moisture. Sometimes just a short look from the bard, a moment of profound eye contact, would make Geralt feel as if he suddenly needed to draw in a deep breath.

Truly, he did not understand how Jaskier could simply make all sense of reason fall apart. Since when could Geralt not control or predict his own breathing, his smiles? He was a witcher, he was created for a purpose, every part of his body has a _function._ Why would he need to take in more air when he met Jaskier’s eyes? It just didn’t make sense.

Another round of enthusiastic applause called Geralt back to the present. He furrowed his brow at his flagon and then downed the last of it, draining it to the last drop. Pointedly not looking at Jaskier as he took bows for his adoring crowd, Geralt counted out the proper amount of coin and left it on the table (underneath the now empty flagon, so as to prevent any other customers from swiping it before it could make its way back to the owner). He then stood and purposefully made his way to the unassuming door in the back where one could access the staircase leading upwards to the inn’s rentable rooms.

Geralt had deliberately chosen his booth to be near this door in order to minimize the amount of time it would take to retreat into the silence of the room he and Jaskier had rented. In addition, it made it easier to stop himself from staring at the bard when he had such a short distance before a door would be between him and Jaskier’s performance. Thus, he completely missed the moment when Jaskier saw him exiting.

“Oh, dear friends, it’s been a truly exhausting day of travels—” His rapt audience sighed, and Jaskier heard a couple friendly shouts for an encore. “I’m really very sorry, folks, you _have_ been _such_ a lovely crowd, but I just must be going! Beauty sleep and all that, yeah? Yes! Thank you _so_ much, all of you, for a wonderful time!”

  
He _was_ sincere, of course he was, Jaskier was honestly still becoming accustomed to being greeted at venues with cheers and enthusiasm rather than stale food being hurled his way, but at the moment he was a little distracted. He made sure to direct a cheeky grin towards a sweet-looking woman around his age, not quite wanting to _completely_ throw away any prospects, before taking one last bow and hurrying his way over to the door in the back into which he’d just seen Geralt disappear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!!!! im real rusty at writing cause i don't do it often but i really hope yall like this installment? im planning on continuing this scene with one more chapter, and then give it a sequel that takes a while after this (after the episode 6 breakup). i hope this is engaging enough to make u guys want to see the next scene? it started out as just geralt's stream of consciousness but i added the scene around it to make it so that things are... happening... rather than just it being his thoughts, but i did really want to explore his thoughts!!! i love hearing YALL's thoughts too so pls let me know in the comments if u have any
> 
> also also!! i've just created a witcher server for queer fans, so please join here  
> https://discord.gg/8M79ymR if you'd like to come chat!!  
> (i can't promise sneak peeks but im definitely known to frustratedly discuss writing with whoever's nearby which could include the server)


	2. admonition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What in the world was possessing him? He’d never been so captivated, so completely incapacitated, by simply a person’s presence before. Geralt couldn’t focus, couldn’t think around Jaskier.
> 
> Geralt felt himself subconsciously leaning towards Jaskier, the beat of his pulse quickening.

Geralt knelt and was carefully folding his now-removed armor and placing it gently at the top of one of his bags when he heard the rattle of a key in the door. Strange—he’d expected it to be quite a while before Jaskier would tear himself away from the throng of thrilled tavern patrons and come join him in the room for a night’s sleep. The bard had certainly seemed rather preoccupied. Well, so much for finding reprieve from his strange thoughts regarding his travel companion.

“Geralt! There you are, you cantankerous old witcher.” The door swung open and Jaskier’s signature chatter filled the air. Geralt felt an odd sort of warmth blooming in his chest at the bright way Jaskier called his name. He furrowed his brows. “I couldn’t help but notice your abrupt exit! Had to wonder if there might be something off, some issue perhaps? Didn’t want to stay down there and miss all the fun if some monster had turned up!”

Jaskier laughed shallowly, idly wiggling his feet. Geralt quickly finished his small task, adding the last belt to the stack, then pushed himself up using an elbow on his knee and turned his head to look at the bard. Something in Jaskier’s posture told him that there was some truth missing from his words, something else going on, but Geralt was not someone who could parse out what, exactly, the odd bit was.

Not that he cared, of course.

“Hm,” Geralt grunted, moving towards the door to toe off his boots. Pointedly, he kept his gaze towards the floor.

“Ah, so I see you are… taking  _ off _ the gear, so, that would mean, well, no monster, then?”

This was, of course, fairly obvious, so Geralt didn’t bother responding, instead walking over to the bed and sitting down. He picked up one of his vials of blade oil and began to replenish it.

It felt like every word he said brought him closer to revealing his strange reactions to Jaskier’s presence, which was the absolute last thing he needed. As a human, he already had every right to be afraid of Geralt, even if, for some reason, he wasn’t. Geralt certainly didn’t need Jaskier to think that he couldn’t  _ control _ himself—a witcher with no self-control was a terrifying thing indeed. Avoiding talking at all would be the best course of action. By some miracle, this human wasn’t afraid of him, and if, to keep it that way, it meant he had to keep quiet, then—

“You could just, you know,  _ tell _ me if I’d done something wrong,” Jaskier chided. Geralt looked up to see a cross-looking Jaskier with fists on his hips.

Fuck.

“Funny, Geralt, you’ve never  _ seemed _ to take any issue in detailing  _ precisely _ every annoyance I’ve ever committed against you,” he continued. Even if Geralt felt like any words he might say would simply make the situation worse, he couldn’t leave Jaskier thinking that  _ he _ was the one in the wrong.

So, slowly, he spoke.

“It isn’t… you.”

At that, Jaskier’s entire expression and posture changed, immediately morphing into concern. He tentatively moved closer to Geralt, pausing for a moment in indecision before sitting next to him on the bed, only about a foot away. This was bad, very bad, Geralt definitely just should not have said anything. A grunt would have been fine, right? He could feel the adverse reactions start within his body, the way his heart seemed to stutter in his chest, the way his breath caught in the back of his throat. He could feel the heat radiating off of Jaskier at this distance, feel Jaskier’s eyes on the side of his face. Incapable of looking at Jaskier’s face for fear of what else his body might do, where his thoughts might go, Geralt kept staring at his own feet.

“So is… everything alright?” Jaskier asked, the genuine care in his voice unmistakable. It was almost too much for Geralt to handle. “Sometimes I  _ can _ help, you know. Not all of a witcher’s problems are too grand for us common humans to wrap our heads around, I’d wager. Come on, give it a try.”

Jaskier let out a small laugh at this last bit, an attempt to lighten the mood in the room, but Geralt could tell he was serious. This conversation could not continue, he couldn’t be allowed to talk about this.

“It’s fine, Jaskier.”

This answer did not satisfy Jaskier, however, who harrumphed indignantly next to him. Geralt felt the mattress shifting a bit, then the touch of a hand on his forearm. Goosebumps shot from the point of contact all the way up his arm, standing all his hair on end, as if Jaskier’s hand had static charge. Geralt almost flinched. In a lapse of judgement that came with the shock from the touch, he looked up into Jaskier’s face.

Mistake. As soon as their gazes met, Jaskier smiled, his striking blue eyes twinkling with hope. Geralt found his breath seized from him yet again, and his heart pounded like a drum in his ears. When Jaskier began to speak, Geralt wouldn’t have been able to relay a single word he said, too focused on the movement of Jaskier’s lips and deafened from the sound of his own pulse.

“I mean, really, we’ve been friends for how long, now? It’s certainly been  _ years, _ so it’s honestly about time you actually  _ talked _ to me about your life. I’ve never been against the concept! And I can  _ promise _ I won’t disclose it in my ballads or whatnot, my lips are one  _ hundred _ percent sealed—”

What in the  _ world _ was possessing him? He’d never been so captivated, so completely incapacitated, by simply a person’s presence before. Geralt couldn’t focus, couldn’t  _ think _ around Jaskier. It wasn’t at all like the sexual attraction he’d had before, how he could hardly focus on a conversation because he would  _ so _ rather be doing far more inappropriate activities with that person. In fact, he hardly felt a desire to change this positioning at all, but something tugged at him, as if a part of him wanted to just be  _ closer. _

Geralt felt himself subconsciously leaning towards Jaskier, the beat of his pulse quickening.

“Jaskier, I—” At that, Jaskier stopped talking, instead staring up at Geralt expectantly with wide eyes. Geralt didn’t even know what he’d meant to say, what he meant to do. He couldn’t express what was going on and yet couldn’t stay silent. But something, some small voice, prompted him to lean his face ever closer, and he had to ask.

“Can I…” He trailed off; Geralt himself didn’t know what he was asking for. For reprieve, for quiet, for an escape from the conversation.

Until Jaskier nodded, once, with a small smile.

The next moment found Geralt closing his eyes, moving across the last few inches separating his face from Jaskier’s, pressing his lips to that little grin, and they were kissing.

It wasn’t like any kiss Geralt had ever experienced in his long life. This was no prelude, there was no pretense or expectation for something more. Within an instant, Geralt’s eyelids had fallen shut as he exhaled and relaxed into the touch. The kiss existed in this moment alone, two people reveling in the warmth and touch of each other. Jaskier’s hand, the one that wasn’t already on Geralt’s forearm, moved to gently touch the side of Geralt’s face. Warmth bloomed under Jaskier’s gentle fingers, along with the realization that there was no insistence for continuation, for further action. A hand that wasn’t trying to rush, but to savor. As he moved his mouth a little, one of his lips slipping momentarily between Jaskier’s, Geralt suddenly experienced a sensation that felt like falling rapidly, as if his stomach had plummeted out of his torso. This gave him a jolt and he moved back, pulling out of the kiss and opening his eyes.

At the sight of Jaskier’s now slightly-rosy lips, Geralt’s heart jumped into his throat and stopped his breath. Jaskier himself exhaled heavily, never breaking eye contact, still smiling. He didn’t move his hand from Geralt’s cheek.

“Geralt, was that…” Jaskier started, still breathless. Then he paused and thought for a moment. “Did you—” Another pause. “How did that feel?”

“It was—” Geralt stopped, remembering the feeling of falling, of warmth, of being unable to breathe, of contentment, of the sense of not knowing what was to come next. “I don’t know.”

Jaskier’s hand fell from Geralt’s face, and his expression took on a bittersweet note.

“It’s alright. This room has two beds, I’ll set up in the other and wake up early. You won’t have to see me tomorrow, or ever talk about this again. I’ll give you time to decide if you still want to even interact with me after that. When next we meet up it’ll all be back to normal.” Jaskier seemed resigned, and got up to go ready his bed.

No, no,  _ no. _ This was so wrong. Geralt didn’t understand why he felt so much protest at this suggestion. Did he  _ want _ to share Jaskier’s bed? He didn’t know, he hadn’t felt that same desire he felt in others when he knew he wanted that. Certainly while they kissed it wasn’t his hope to continue towards that, but was he  _ against _ it? He knew he didn’t want Jaskier to leave, didn’t want to see that bittersweet tinge on his features, but Geralt was frozen. The plummeting feeling, the shortness of breath, that couldn’t be good. Maybe he had made Jaskier uncomfortable, given him the same awful feelings, that same sense of losing all reason. Maybe Jaskier was right; it was for the best.

By the time Geralt could stir himself out of his racing thoughts enough to move, Jaskier was already settled down to sleep. Geralt could feel a tingling on his lips, as if the kiss had left some sort of residue, and he touched his lips softly with his fingers. Did Jaskier feel it too?

Maybe it was better to not disturb him. Next time they happened to meet at some tavern or another, maybe Geralt’s body would finally go back to normal. He could survive until then without Jaskier, if this is what he wanted. Geralt had lived decades without the bard at his side, what was another few weeks?

Geralt pushed his jumbled thoughts to the side in a vain attempt to herd them to a less insistent corner of his mind, then climbed under the sheets to go to sleep, hoping against all reason that  _ this _ time life would finally return to normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello ahhh I PROMISE there'll be a sequel I can't let them end this way..... truly they are dumb of Ass
> 
> but I still really hope y'all like it and it lives up to the first chapter (which got so much more love than I expected thank you all so much <3)  
> (also pls I love reading comments it makes me so happy)
> 
> anyway enjoy, and I'll post the sequel as soon as I've got it done ! (hopefully not more than a week or two)
> 
> ~ R
> 
> (P.S. the queer witcher discord i made is full of super cool ppl and u should come hang with us if you aren't in already!! https://discord.gg/8M79ymR)


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